


Winning the War

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Skinner takes Mulder home from the hospital, and more dubious realties ensue.





	Winning the War

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Winning the War by Griffin Grimes

"Winning the War" by Griffin Grimes   
M/Sk slash; post-"Triangle"  
Rating: NC-17  
Category: SR   
Distribution: archiving okay on Gossamer and adult sites, just let me know where it's going and keep these headings as they are. Please archive *this* version, as there are some alterations from the original posted in November to XSlash and MSF.  
Disclaimer: This is a parody of characters and situations from Fox's The X-Files, created by Chris Carter. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Summary: Skinner takes Mulder home from the hospital, and more dubious realties ensue.  
I am not to blame if you read this and are underaged/don't like M/M erotica. The ratings and classifications are there for a reason.

* * *

Skinner hid a grin as he shook his head, watching Mulder folding his body into the passenger seat of his car.

"Mulder, you don't look anything like Dorothy, and the Bermuda Triangle is a long way from Kansas."

Mulder looked at his former boss with exasperation and plopped himself onto the leather seat with a groan. He was almost fully recovered from the injuries and hypothermia that had put him in the hospital, but days of lying on his back made his muscles and joints creak in protest now.

"You know that stranger things can happen than a time warp," Mulder countered Skinner's skepticism as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "You've read enough of my reports on X-Files, I'm surprised you could discount any extreme possibility. I'm telling you, it *did* happen."

Skinner drove on to Mulder's apartment, thinking of all the strange details he had heard from the agent about his dream. The dream Mulder insisted was real. The dream where Mulder had seen the A.D. as a double agent, posing as a World War II Nazi officer, yet revealing in a sudden lifesaving action that he was on Mulder's side all the way. Walter wondered how long Mulder had envisioned him that way, and how much of it was still only in the other man's subconscious.

He took his eyes off the road to look at the fatigued form at his side. Mulder was leaning back into the gap between seat and door, eyes closed, elbow propped on the door frame supporting his hand, which was resting on his forehead to shade his eyes. Long legs stretched out in the footwell. Skinner had always loved to catch Mulder in rare moments like this, selfconsciousness gone and somehow strangely vulnerable. He wondered if Mulder had trusted him enough to fall asleep while he was driving.

Skinner cleared his throat when they got to the curb in front of Mulder's building. Dusk had turned to darkness in the half hour drive into Alexandria. They had passed almost the entire time in silence, Mulder simply laying there, so relaxed in his presence...so beautiful. At the prompting sound, Mulder stirred from the doze he was in and looked up, surprised and disoriented.

"You'd better get some more sleep this weekend, Agent Mulder, because you're expected back behind your desk first thing Monday morning," he advised, putting on his gruff tone behind a slight smile, enjoying playing his supervisory role again with the other man, if just for a moment. Still, Skinner wondered how their relationship might change, possibly for the better, now that he was no longer the direct overseer of the troublesome duo.

Mulder blinked the sleep out of his eyes, yawned, and turned his head to the man behind the steering wheel, seeming to be considering whether or not he actually wanted to get out of the car. He only nodded in response to Skinner's words, opened the door, and began prying his feet out of the cramped confines of the car. He stopped when Skinner suddenly grabbed a handful of fabric from the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him firmly back into the seat. Mulder felt much more awake now.

"Yes, Sir?" Mulder said out of habit, looking more closely at Skinner, curious why he was being detained. The big man seemed at a momentary loss for words, but kept his eyes locked on Mulder's weary ones.

"No more dreaming about double agents and grandiose plans to take over the world, Mulder," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "You get enough of that in real life without dreaming about it as well." Mulder couldn't tell if there was a hint of mirth behind the serious tone.

Skinner released his grip on the sleeve as if he had forgotten he had grabbed Mulder in the first place. Mulder wordlessly got out of the car, vaguely pondering Skinner's words. He raised his hand to swing the door shut just in time to hear Skinner's final advice.

"And no more dreaming about me in well-tailored uniforms and shiny boots, Agent," Skinner called out as the door slammed shut and he began pulling away from the curb.

Mulder gaped at the back of Skinner's head as the car drove away into the empty street, not given the chance to read the older man's expression. The surprised agent looked left and right to see if anyone had heard those last words, and saw that he was completely alone in front of the building. He stood there in semi-shock for several moments, struggling to think clearly, before finally turning to go up to his apartment and at least attempt to get some sleep.

**********************

Mulder woke to an urgent pounding on his door. He must have fallen asleep as soon as he stretched out on the couch upon entering the apartment, he thought, because he could remember nothing that happened after Skinner had dropped him off. He must have changed clothes, because he was now clad in loose grey sweatpants and undershirt, but he didn't remember changing.

The living room was dark, lit only by the faint green glow of the fish tank. Mulder fumbled to turn on the floor lamp on the other side of the couch and then creakily walked to the door, stiff joints and muscles still insisting he take it slow. He couldn't imagine who could be banging on his door with such fervor at this time of night. Reaching the door, he peeked through the peephole at his late-night visitor and gasped.

Hurrying hands unlocked the deadbolt and slid the chain free of its prison, and Mulder opened the door to let the man in. He couldn't believe what pushed roughly past him over the threshold to stand in the middle of his living room. For the second time that night, he gaped in amazement at his former boss.

"What the Hell..?" Mulder exclaimed as he took in Skinner's appearance, eyeing him up and down, mouth hanging open. The burly man filled out what looked like a World War II-era U.S. Army Air Corps uniform -light khaki fabric topped with a black leather, lamb's wool-lined airman's jacket and a dark, stiff-peaked captain's hat. A creamy white wool scarf was slung casually over his shoulders between jacket and shirt collar, loose ends hanging down his broad chest. The A.D. was almost unrecognizable with mirrored aviator glasses replacing his usual small, clear wire-rimmed spectacles. Mulder's gaze froze at the sight of a half-smoked, fat stogie sticking out between clenched jaws.

"Skinner, what the Hell are you...?" Mulder managed to get out, fighting to find his breath.

"Shut up, Agent Mulder," Skinner interrupted with a disdainful tone, grabbing the cigar out of his mouth to spit the words out. "If that's who you *really* are, that is."

"What?" Mulder gasped, finally persuading his legs to carry him into the living room to get a closer look at his former boss. Mulder couldn't read the expression in Skinner's face, eyes hidden by the silvery lenses.

Skinner took another step towards Mulder to stand inches in front of him, the two nearly chest to chest with each other. The bigger man grabbed Mulder's white cotton undershirt near the shoulders, one handful in each tight fist, and shoved him backwards to fall into the couch.

Mulder landed awkwardly in a seated position on the center cushion of the couch, staring up at the familiar form decked out like it was Halloween at a VFW costume ball. Come as your favorite war hero, the invitation would have said. He watched silently as the man he knew as Walter Skinner paced back and forth in front of him, Mulder pondering what the Hell Skinner was up to.

After letting Mulder sweat for a few long moments, Skinner abruptly ceased his pacing and stood firmly in the middle of the room, planting his feet in a wide stance and facing Mulder as if the younger man were a one-man audience watching a one-man play in his own living room. He placed fisted hands on his hips, accentuating the barrel-like shape of his chest and his broad shoulders.

Mulder took the opportunity to again try to find out what Skinner was doing in his apartment in the middle of the night in such a get-up. Such an inspiring get-up, Mulder amended in his mind, as he felt his prick begin stirring in his loose, soft sweat pants.

"Sir, what are you doing here? And what are you doing here like *that*?" he asked, waving a hand up and down at Skinner's vintage costume.

"I need to find out where your loyalties lay, Mulder," Skinner finally explained, still standing braced and looking even butcher than usual for him, staring down at Mulder from the center of the room.

"What?" Mulder replied with surprise, not letting his eyes drop their connection with Skinner's face.

"There's been some intelligence out that you're not one-hundred-percent red-blooded American," Skinner continued, not helping any in erasing Mulder's confused and disbelieving expression. Skinner didn't seem to notice that, or didn't care. "And I know of only one test that will tell for sure if you're really the Fox Mulder you claim to be."

Skinner apparently felt that was enough explanation for the time being, as he bent over to stub his cigar butt out on a plate that was left on the coffee table in front of Mulder. The big man then shoved the low table to one side to make room for himself to kneel on the floor in front of the couch, wedging himself between Mulder's long, lean thighs.

Mulder stopped breathing. He felt his face grow hot and his groin grow hotter as he stared down at the handsome man kneeling before him. Finally, Mulder managed the shaky question.

"What...what kind of test is this, Sir?" 

He swore Skinner's eyes glinted behind the opaque glasses.

"It's a test that never fails, Mister," Skinner said seriously, resting one huge, possessive palm on each of Mulder's trembling knees, then sliding the hands down to caress the backsides of Mulder's fleece-covered thighs. "It's a test for appropriate vocalizations under extreme conditions."

Mulder looked at him quizzically, then gasped as Skinner slid his hands up to hook strong fingers over the elastic waistband of Mulder's sweats.

"That's all I can tell you, Mulder. The rest is top secret, classified information. Any more information than that, and I'd have to kill you."

With that said, Skinner brought Mulder's sweatpants all the way around his ankles with one quick, practiced move. Mulder bit on his lower lip to hold back the loud gasp that came to his throat.

The test began as the uniformed man bent down to meet Mulder's nearly erect cock, the officer's hat and flyer's glasses still in their proper places. Mulder arched his back into the couch, keeping his eyes glued to the incredible events occurring in his lap.

Skinner's first plan of attack was with his tongue, cleaning off the milky substance that threatened to drip off the tip of Mulder's hardened shaft. He heard Mulder moan as the tongue lingered there, swirling over the head tauntingly. 

The mouth opened wider to take the organ in all the way, wet, silky and textured flesh wrapping over and under and pressing in on the shaft from both directions. Tongue again showed its dexterity by caressing the underside, and Mulder braced his hands at his sides to lift his bare cheeks up from the leather couch.

The kneeling man, apparently wanting to remind his prisoner that this was a special form of interrogation, reached forward and clutched Mulder's wrists, making sure the suspect's hands stayed well back, grounding them securely to the cushion. Mulder was aroused even further by the firm grip, feeling his nipples tighten and brush against the soft cotton of his shirt as he arched further, closing his eyes and letting his head bend back to grind sweaty hair and neck against the top of the couch.

Skinner's large body forced Mulder's thighs open wider, and the big man left his attentive sucking of the pulsing prick to taste the skin covering Mulder's heavy balls. The hungry tongue moistened every surface of the sac and lingered in the crevice between the crinkling, hairy flesh and the base of the prick, tongue tip poking and exploring while Mulder moaned more steadily.

The tongue ran up the bottom of the shaft to again take in the reddened organ, and Skinner kicked up the pace. The still-costumed head bobbed steadily over Mulder's throbbing prick, letting the tongue glide back and forth across sensitive skin, an occasional scraping of teeth sending louder gasps and moans through Mulder's lips. 

A light sheen of sweat arose on Mulder's skin and began dampening his thin cotton undershirt as Mulder's hips took up a counter rhythm to Skinner's quickening pace. Finally, Mulder could stand it no more, and screamed hoarsely as his tight balls released their load, shooting his hot cum into the interrogator's thirsty mouth. The orgasm was stronger than any Mulder could remember, and spasms blinded him until he fell into a dim consciousness.

Eyes still closed, he felt the other man gently arrange him on the couch, swinging Mulder's legs up and guiding him to stretch out on the leather cushions. Mulder numbly complied, and managed to bring his eyelids to half-mast to catch a hooded glimpse of the uniformed Skinner, now standing beside the couch, pulling a blanket over Mulder's half-naked body.

Seeing Skinner like that one last time, Mulder dreamily muttered one last phrase before falling into a deep, satisfied sleep. "God bless America", Mulder said with a weary smile as he closed his eyes again and unconsciousness overcame him.

His final thought was that he must have passed the test.

********************

Waking up was like being pulled up out of a deep well, the sunlight streaming in through the slats of the blinds hitting Mulder in the face and insisting that he had better move off the couch.

Mulder rubbed the back of his wrist over his closed eyelids, finally leaving the hand there to shield his sensitive eyes from the brightness. He sat up with a groan, the blanket falling off his shoulders and wadding up next to him on the couch. Now safe from the stabbing shaft of sunlight, he dropped his hand and looked around the living room. 

He quickly noticed that the floor lamp next to the couch was still turned on, looking strange to be lit in bright daylight. Mulder stood up to turn it off, and finally realized his sweatpants were bunched around his ankles, nearly tripping him as he began to move toward the lamp. /What the Hell happened last night?/ Mulder searched his sleep-fogged brain for memories and explanation. Then recall suddenly flooded back to him in full color, and he dropped back down to sit again at the couch, absorbing it all.

/That was one fucking weird dream/, he judged, knowing the whole fantasy of Skinner "interrogating" him with a blow job while dressed up like some WWII flyboy must have been a product of his imagination, recently influenced by his strange experiences in the Atlantic. /Maybe it has *all* been nothing but dreams...and wet ones, at that/, he thought, a bit embarrassed at himself as he reached down to pull the fleece pants back up and over his hips.

It had all felt so real, Mulder thought amazedly as he arose and stumbled sleepily into the kitchen to throw some cold water on his face and get some coffee started, hoping at least one of these strategies would get him back to reality.

"Reality is not what it's cracked up to be," he told himself as he stepped into the kitchen. 

He hadn't noticed the stub of cigar that had come to rest under the couch. As he wasn't one who went in for spring cleaning, it probably would be a long time, if ever, before he did.

The end

Please send any comments to <>. Thanks!

My fanfic/personal homepage: Griffin's Den http://members.tripod.com/~GriffG/


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